Dreams and Sacrifices
by Frodo'sPen
Summary: Aragorn's sister will do anything to see him as the king of Gondor, knowing only he can lead the people. But fullfilling his dreams may cost them both more than they ever imagined. R&R please.
1. Default Chapter

Dreams and Sacrifices  
  
Rating:PG-13 for violence.  
  
Summary: What if Aragorn had siblings? Dereth works hard to put her brother on the throne, but it may cost both of them more than they ever imagined.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, or any of its characters. And there's no way I could be making any money off of this stupid little thing.  
  
AN: If no one reviews, I'll assume no one is reading, and that could lead to my updates being few and far between, if not non-existent. So show a little appreciation and let me know what you think. Criticism is welcome, as long as it's constructive.  
  
Prologue: Aragorn leaned against the doorframe. He tried desperately to shut out the screams coming from inside the house. His mother was in there, struggling to give birth. It would be her last act among the living. Such an old woman, widowed for many, many years, should not be with child. But she had carried this strange infant since his father's death, when he was two. The spell had been laid by Elrond. It was meant to keep her from birth until Aragorn had claimed the throne. But Gilrean was old, and coming to the end of her years. The curse had to be lifted. A voice called from within the dwelling, and Aragorn hurried to answer it. The cries had died down, and his mother rested on her bed, smiling somewhat. She seemed at peace for the first time in a long, long while. Aragorn moved quickly to her side and took her hand. She lacked the strength to speak, but her eyes told him all he needed to know. "I will. Fear not," he said. Gilrean looked up at him, drew ragged breath, and then no more. Her son slowly let her limp hand fall, and there it lay at her side, never to move again. He stood up and turned to face the midwife. She was another Dunadan. In her arms she held the child: female, small, white, and strangely quiet. Not a sound had come from the baby the entire time he had been in the room. "Give me the child," Aragorn said quietly. The woman handed her to him. "Now go, alert the Rangers that I will return to them soon." He looked down at the babe in his arms. "I have business in Rivendell."  
  
  
  
Chapter 1: Frodo scanned the crowd with interest. There were many folk gathered that evening in Elrond's hall. It was a great feast, and he saw each of the free peoples of the world represented there: Men, Dwarves, Elves (there were a good many of these), hobbits, and wizards. His swift gaze quickly located his friends, and then those other few among the company that he could name: Elrond Halfelven and his daughter Arwen Evenstar, Gandalf the Grey, and Glorifindel the Elf Lord. Next to Lady Arwen, at the high table where Frodo himself would dine, sat a young girl, of eighteen if the ages of Men were guessed aright, yet her bright eyes showed knowledge and understanding beyond her years. She was not beautiful by any standard, at least not at first glance. Her face was marked with blemishes of both youth and battle. The earthen brown hair was touched none too lightly with the fire of red and gold, and it hung just below her shoulders, cut shorter in the front. Yet if one looked deeply, one might see what beauty abode in the rich hues of those severed locks, or the lightness of the windblown skin. Most intriguing of all were the eyes, seemingly reflections of the sea itself, which might look blue or green or gray depending on the light, and were framed at the dark night of the pupil with a yellow sunset. Frodo felt drawn to their keen awareness, a shiver rising in him as he sensed the sorrow and strong sense of duty behind them. And then he knew. This maiden was a Ranger. An Elf appeared and directed him to his seat near Gandalf, which was surprisingly right across from the Ranger maid. As he saw her up closer, he realized that she resembled Strider in shape of face. Gandalf caught his glance and turned to the maiden. She drew her attention away from wherever it had rested and looked at Frodo, bringing him fully into those blue-green depths. "Frodo, this is Aragorn's sister, the Lady Dereth," said Gandalf. "Greetings, friend," said the girl. "I am pleased to have met so honorable a hobbit. You have shown great courage, that none will soon forget." She tipped her head politely. Frodo returned the slight bow. "And I am pleased to have been addressed so by you, lady. Though I could not have survived without the help of your brother." She nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed. You will find no better aid than a Ranger's on such a quest. My service is yours, should you need it." "Thank you, lady," Frodo said. "But I would not endanger so precious a life. Besides, my part in this great story has ended. It is time for another to take up the burden." The maiden gazed at him shrewdly for a long moment before answering, "Make no assumption. I face great peril every day. There is no rest for the heirs of the kings. If I am to fight in this great war, I would waste no time fighting at your side." "Again, I thank you, lady." "And you needn't call me 'lady,'" she smiled, and it seemed to melt away the hardness and cares which lined her face. She was much like unto Elrond, who cared greatly, but was touched by much sorrow and pain, scarred beyond healing. She was as one who knows peace will never come, though the battles be fought and won. "My name is Dereth," she continued. "And so I would have you name me." "As you wish, Dereth," Frodo returned her smile. An Elven woman caught her attention, and they conversed together, speaking in hushed tones. Frodo was forced to find some other entertainment. He found much in Gloin, a Dwarf sitting next to him, long- ago companion of Frodo's cousin Bilbo. And so he spent the feast.  
  
When the great dinner was over, the entire company withdrew to the Hall of Fire. As Dereth rose from her seat, Frodo caught a better look at the Ranger Lady. She was tall, almost the height of a man, yet still would have stood a whole head and shoulders under her brother. Her slim body moved gracefully beneath her gown. It was the deepest of greens, trimmed intricately with gold in the form of leaves on the hem, neck, and sleeves. Her movements were almost stiff, as if their gracility was forced with each step, a gift fought for, not natural. Dereth was a warrior, and no beauty to be admired at. Elrond soon drew him away from gazing at the girl, and led him to a hunched figure sitting in a corner. Frodo was delighted to see that it was Bilbo, and was soon caught up in memories and stories of the Shire. He had missed the old hobbit very much.  
  
Arwen turned to Dereth, and the girl was once again captured by the sight of her beauty. The Elf maiden was as both a sister and a mother to her, and they shared a bond none could break. Dereth never regretted that she was not as lovely as the older woman. Her place was among warriors in battle, and Arwen's at home with embroidery. "Child, will you not sing for us?" said Arwen. Dereth blushed. "Such beautiful words were not written for a voice such as mine." "Nonsense," laughed Arwen. "Your voice is sweet, if not powerful. I would much like to hear it again." "No, I will not disgrace this hall with such an act of evil," Dereth laughed mildly. "I would dearly love to listen to the others, though. It has been long since I last heard such fair voices." "Then join the company," said Elrond kindly. "And rest for yet a while. You travel much, and it has indeed been long since your presence last graced these halls. Listen to your heart's delight, and fellowship with your kin and friends." "I thank you, Master Elrond." Dereth bowed politely, then retreated to sit in a corner, where she allowed herself to be swept away into the tales and songs and light of the fire.  
  
It was Aragorn who had first told her of the Ring. Such a strange thing it seemed that the smallest of persons should be chosen to order the fate of an evil of such magnitude. She had known from when she first laid eyes on the hobbit, that it would be his task. There was no other. If he could not carry it to Mordor, then no one could, and Middle Earth was lost. This Dereth saw, was her task. She had the keen foresight of her people, yet saw only a little ways ahead, to see which actions she should take, never beyond to see the outcome of all things. The Ranger girl sighed, and then swiftly turned at the sound of a soft footfall. Arwen stood in the doorframe. The beautiful Elf smiled. "Ah, even the soundless steps of the Elven Folk are not beyond your hearing, Celeband." Dereth smiled at the sound of her Elvish name. "It was more your presence that alerted me, Evenstar, for all must turn and look when your gracefulness enters the room. You have a way of bringing peace with you, and that is something I crave." Arwen walked over to stand by her friend's side, and place her hands on her strong shoulders. "You are troubled." "Yes," Dereth replied, not looking up. "It is the Hobbit. The task was indeed meant for him, though perhaps the Council may wish to deny it. There is so much that is good in him. I fear that such a quest will destroy it." "We all face that possibility, child. Even those of us who are doomed to wait here. Sometimes I feel as though Estel's long absence will be my undoing, but then I find strength in the thought that I must do all that I am capable of, not for myself, but for him, and yourself, and others such as Frodo and his companions." "You have so much strength! I do believe it may require more for one such as yourself to remain behind than for me to wander the lonely paths of the world into untold danger." Arwen sighed, and sat down on the bed. "It is indeed hard. But I am not suited for such work as that of my brothers. So therefore I sit here in safety, and do what I can." Sea-green eyes met soft gray ones. "Yes, but I ask you, for whom is the risk greater? The one who goes, or the one who stays?"  
  
In the end it was decided that a company of ten should travel to Mordor. The Nine Companions of the Ringbearer to match the Nine Servants of the Lord of the Rings. They would each represent the free people of Middle Earth. Legolas son of Thranduil would travel for the Elves. Gimli son of Gloin for the Dwarves. Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took for the hobbits. Boromir of Gondor, Aragorn son of Arathorn, and his sister Dereth for Men. And of course Frodo Baggins, bearer of the Ring.  
  
TBC  
  
AN: The next chapter will pick up after the breaking of the Fellowship, since nothing specifically concerning our main character happens until then. 


	2. Fate's Icy Grip

AN: I want apologize for the format in my previous chapter. I did have the paragraphs separated, but in uploading the file to the site that all changed. Forgive me, I'm new at this. This story picks up after Boromir's death and the breaking of the Fellowship. Dereth is with Merry and Pippin.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2: Pippin looked up wearily from where he lay by Merry. His friend was wounded on the head, and lay still and silent as he slept on. Not far off stood Dereth, tall and upright, though breathing heavy with the effort, due to an arrow protruding from her shoulder. A particularly mean-looking orc held her by one arm, and another faced her. The two conversed in westron, since it seemed not all of them spoke the same tongue.  
  
"What do we do with it?"  
  
"Fool! Our orders were to kill all but the Halflings!"  
  
"Yes, but I don't think Saruman knew there would be a woman creature."  
  
"Doesn't matter. Only the Halflings are wanted. Let's just put her to the sword and get it over with."  
  
"I say we throw it in the river. Give us some sport, would that."  
  
"Aye, it would. Alright, you take one group and head back to the river. You can meet back up with us after disposing of the extra baggage."  
  
Both of the foul creatures laughed cruelly, and then one grunted to a few of his comrades and dragged the Ranger away. Pippin looked mournfully after her, and catching her eye, was met with an encouraging smile, even as it's owner was dragged off to her doom.  
  
  
  
Splash! The water was icy cold, but colder still was the shouts of the orcs up on the cliff face. Dereth landed on her back, and the shaft of the arrow broke off on the treacherous rocks. Pain shot through her entire body. As the Great River thrashed and tumbled, she fought to get a hold of something with her bound hands, but failed. She tossed and turned with the water's motion, and soon lay floating on her stomach, unable to breath. She gasped as the other end of the arrow broke off as well, and her mouth filled with water.  
  
This is it, she thought. I am going to die. I always thought I would leave this world in battle, but it seems I have been given a fate less suiting to a warrior. Despite her thoughts of doom, the Ranger still fought the river. But it's icy grip held her fast.  
  
  
  
Along the Nindalf, a silent, green-clad group of men had been sent out by the lord Denethor. They were to patrol the eastern shore, and then return downstream to Ithilien, to join the men led by Denethor's son, Faramir. They were noble men, descendants of the line of Numenor. Their footfall was almost noiseless, and their gaze was keen. One of the group, whose path led him near to the Great River, chanced to see a sight strange to his eyes.  
  
"Anurir! Look here!" he whispered to his nearest companion.  
  
"What foul creature is this?" came the reply, off to his right.  
  
"'Tis not foul, I believe it is of Men."  
  
"There are no Men here, same ourselves. Only orcs, or other servants of the Nameless."  
  
"I do not believe it is an orc, it is far too great in stature."  
  
"Let us go and see then."  
  
The two crept along among the edges of the swamp, and Anurir laid hold of the thing, his grip roughly hauling it from the cold waters. He laid it down on the grass, rolling it so that its face looked upward. Both men started back at the sound of violent coughing.  
  
"'Tis alive!"  
  
"Yes, and a creature of Men, as you guessed." he came closer, and knelt. "'Tis a maiden! Dressed in a warriors garb!"  
  
"A maiden? But what business should a maiden have here, here in this forsaken land?"  
  
"She is wounded, an orc arrow, I believe, but she lives."  
  
"We must tend to it, and take her back to Faramir."  
  
  
  
TBC 


	3. In The Hands of a Stranger

Chapter 3:  
  
Dereth lay still as she blinked her eyes open. She was in a softly lit room. The walls and floor were earthen, and the ceiling had wooden beams supporting it. A thick curtain hung at one end of the chamber, obscuring what lay beyond. All this the Ranger took in with a swift glance; all this- and her things laying on a shelf at the opposite side of the room.  
  
She slowly moved up onto her elbows and found that doing so gave her great pain. She bit back a cry and winced as she sat up. A bandage was wound tightly around her body, from her right shoulder to below her left arm. A thicker patch covered the place where the arrow had once been, and it was slick with fresh blood.  
  
With an effort, she stood and made her way over to the shelf, to grab her knife. Only her inner tunic and trousers remained. Her other clothes had been taken off and were nowhere in sight. With the knife still in its sheath, she moved to the curtain and slowly drew it open.  
  
A man stood there, the faintest hint of surprise showing on his stern features. Raven black hair fell to his shoulders. He calmly reached to take the thick folds of fur from Dereth's hands.  
  
She stepped back to make room for him to enter, then thinking quickly drew her knife. He remained impassive the entire time, and seizing her arm turned it so that pain made her drop the weapon, even as he forced her to fall back on the bed. Dereth lay there, gasping.  
  
The man stood to look at her. "You need not try to escape. There is no danger here."  
  
Dereth simply looked at him, still struggling to breath.  
  
"I do not know who you are," he continued "Or for what reason you came to be in the River Anduin, but I would ask that you tell me now."  
  
"And for what reason should I choose to do so?" a hint of defiance hung in the comment.  
  
"I am not going to harm you," the man gazed intently at her, and it suddenly was known to Dereth that this was a keen reader of hearts and intentions, and a man of integrity. She also saw that he was kin to Boromir, for they were very similar in features. "I am called Faramir, son of Denethor, and Captain of Gondor."  
  
"My name is Dereth," she said. "Common folk call me Wanderer." she moved to sit up and face her captor, but fell back for want of strength. Faramir walked over and lifter her up, setting her back lengthwise on the bed.  
  
"You have lost blood. The wound of the orc arrow is deep. It will be some time before you have recovered fully." His touch was gentle.  
  
"I should like some food. It will help."  
  
"Yes, I have sent for some. Now, will you tell me why it is that my men happened upon you in the river?" One look at his stern features told Dereth that there was no hope that she could avoid the conversation.  
  
"I was the captive of a group of orcs, and eager to be rid of an unneeded prisoner, they left me to die in the waters."  
  
"This is a vague story. It tells little, and conceals much. How came you to be in the orcs possession? Were there others with you?"  
  
"Yes, two Halflings." Her eyes did not flinch from his face as she said this, and she caught the brief look of astonishment.  
  
"Halflings, you say? Whence came you?" Faramir leaned closer now, as though his interest was caught.  
  
"From Rivendell, or Imladris, as some name it." Dereth now had no doubt that his was the brother Boromir had spoken of at the Council, and the look he now gave her confirmed it.  
  
"You came from Rivendell with Halflings? On what errand?"  
  
"That is hidden."  
  
"And you will not tell me. But surely this was some quest of great importance."  
  
"You know more than you perhaps believe."  
  
"Perhaps. But I do believe that you will not tell me more. And I will not ask tonight. Rest here awhile, for you are weary. Tomorrow perhaps more may be said." With that, Faramir stood and left, and Dereth was not long in drifting off to oblivion.  
  
AN: Sorry it's so short. Would you guys prefer short, frequent updates? Or longer chapters that come only about once a week? Let me know. Oh, and I'm still looking for that beta-reader. 


	4. Riddled Words and Things Unsaid

Chapter 4:  
  
As Dereth dove into the cold waters her mind brought back images of terror not long gone, and she struggled inwardly for a moment. Then, calming, she allowed the current of the little pool to carry her softly about, bathing her travel-worn body in soft wavelets. A nearby waterfall sprayed a cool mist about the cove, and when that and the cold waves had calmed her nerves she stood on the rocks beneath it and let the water shower down around her. The barely audible sounds of rustling leaves and undergrowth from up in the hills surrounding the cove told her that Faramir's men were not far off, giving her the space she needed, yet still guarding against any escape.  
  
When finished with her shower, Dereth stood on the outermost rock and let herself fall back into the pool. She thought briefly that she should dress and return to the cave, but the cool, soft feel of the water and the peaceful silence that she had not known for so long won her over in the end, and she swam until the hour had changed, and the sun had sunk further into the sky.  
  
  
  
Dressed in the spare clothes the men had provided for her, Dereth sat cross-legged on a fur rug, eating quietly and facing her interrogator. Faramir seemed content to simply gaze at her as she devoured bread, meat, and wine. From such treatment from another being she might have cringed, yet she knew that this son of Gondor was piercing right through her outward appearance, reading her heart and thoughts. Even as she knew this she knew that she had nothing to fear, as a friend to all foes of the Enemy.  
  
"Now," came the captain's voice loudly and suddenly as she finished her meal. "I must learn more of you and your quest. For I am commanded to kill all strangers found wandering in this realm."  
  
"I did not wander into it," said Dereth curtly. "You brought me here. If you are commanded to kill me, then why did you not leave me to die in the waters of the Anduin?"  
  
"But you were within the far reaches of the patrol of Gondor. I must know the reasons why."  
  
"As I have told you before," she continued. "I was not there of my own free will. I was the disregarded captive of a band of Uruk-Hai."  
  
"And what reason had they for making you their captive?"  
  
"I know not. They did not think it necessary to inform me."  
  
"So it would seem. Yet you know or guess something of this?"  
  
"You seem a keen reader of hearts, Captain. Perhaps you will tell me." At that she held his gaze without wavering, and in her eyes he beheld all that she would let him see. In that moment he knew both that she was no foe, but that her loyalties lay elsewhere than with him, and that she would tell him no more than she had already said.  
  
Faramir sat back satisfied. "So be it."  
  
Dereth took a sip of the wine she had been given. "So you will ask no more of me?"  
  
"Only this," he said. "You were in Imladris, and came with two halflings. Were there others with you?"  
  
Dereth remained impassive. "Yes."  
  
"Are their names hidden as well?"  
  
"Two more halflings, Gimli, a Dwarf, Legolas, a Wood-Elf, Aragorn son of Arathorn, and Boromir if Gondor." She watched the flicker of emotion pass over his face and hesitated before continuing, "Your brother."  
  
He sat back, deep in thought, "So you claim to know me as well as I would try to know you. What veil lies over your face and your name? Dereth surely, is not what your kin would call you."  
  
"Indeed, I am often known as Celeblach, the Silver-Flame, just as my brother and only near kin is Estel, Hope."  
  
Faramir once more regarded her, "Strange names for wanderers; Elvish."  
  
"Not all those who wander are lost," Dereth said with a soft smile, then turned her attention back to her cup as she drank deeply.  
  
AN: Sorry this is so short. The next will be longer. We meet with Sam and Frodo, and Dereth is given a choice: continue with them on their quest, or follow Faramir back to Gondor and aid in the War? REVIEW! 


	5. As If By Chance Our Paths Did Meet

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Based on Tolkien's incredible work. I am not making any money off of this._

_Chapter 5:_

Faramir pulled back the curtain without warning, but Dereth was on her feet, fulled clothed in the gear of the Ithilien rangers. Her feet were spread and planted, and she faced the doorway, waiting for him.

"So now you would take me with you, Captain?"

He showed no sign of either frustration or humor. "I will. I would have you in my sight at all times, if it were possible, but since it is not i will be content with taking you on such excursions as I may. You are a warrior, are you not? Your manner and gear both speak for you, and I have no doubt that you are well-seasoned and skillful."

She nodded. "I am."

"Then I would ask your aid," he said. "We are to waylay a garrison of Haradrim before they can enter the Black Gate. I trust you, but others do not. If you will, I would have you join us."

"I will," said the maiden, bowing.

Faramir held open the curtain and stood aside. "Come."

It was in a little clearing of green and brown that the paths of the broken Fellowship once again crossed. The ground was littered with plants, chiefly fern, of which there was a rather larger grove. In it Dereth perceived more than her companions. She backed off as the hobbits sprang from the undergrowth, watching Faramir handle the scene.

"We have not found what we sought. But what have we found?"

"Not Orcs."

"Elves?"

"Nay! Not Elves. Elves do not walk in Ithilien in these days. And Elves are wondrous fair to look upon, or so 'tis said."

It was Sam's voice that spoke first from the ferns, loud and clear. "Meaning we're not, I take you. Thank you kindly. And when you're finished discussing us, perhaps you'll say who you are, and why you cna't let two tired travelers rest."

Dereth's laughter was more honest and better concealed than Faramir's, and for a moment she thought to step forward. Something held her back.. The conversation went on.

"I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor. But there are no travelers in this land: only servants of the Dark Tower, or of the White."

"But we are neither. And travelers we are, whatever Captain Faramir may say."

"Then make haste to declare yourselves and your errand. We have work to do, and this is no time or place for riddling or parleying. Come! Where is the third of your company?"

"The third?"

"Yes, the skulking fellow that we say with his nose in the pool down yonder. He had an ill-favored look. Some spying breed of Orc, I guess, or a creature of theirs. But he gave us the slip by some fox-trick."

"I do not know where he is. He is only a chance companion met upon our road, and I am not answerable for him. If you come on him, spare him. Bring him or send him to us. He is only a wretched gangrel creature, but I have him under my care for a while. But as for us, we are Hobbits of the Shire, far to the North and West, beyond many rivers. Frodo son of Drogo is my name, and with me is Samwise son of Hamfast, a worthy hobbit in my service. We have come by long ways– out of Rivendell, or Imladris as some call it. Seven companions we had: one we lost at Moria, the others we left at Parth Galen above Rauros: two of my kin; a Dwarf there was also, and an Elf, and three of the race of Men. They were Aragorn and Dereth; and Boromir, who said that he came out of Minas Tirith, a city in the South."

A general cry arose at this. "Boromir!"

"Boromir son of the Lord Denethor? Who are you then, and what had you to do with him? Be swift, for the Sun is climbing!"

"Are the riddling words known to you that Boromir brought to Rivendell?

Seek of the Sword that was Broken.

In Imladris it dwells."

"The words are known indeed." Faramir then glanced back at Dereth for the first time. Turning back to Frodo, he said, "It is some token of your truth that you also know them."

"Aragorn whom I named is the bearer of the Sword that was Broken," Frodo explained. "And we are the Halflings that the rhyme spoke of."

"Wanderer, come here now," said Faramir. "Reveal yourself and confirm what truth may lie in the words of these Halflings."

Dereth stepped forward beside him and drew back her hood. The hobbits gazed up at her in astonishment."

"My Lady!" said Sam. "We thought we had left you behind at the waterfall! How did you get here, if I may ask?"

"It shall all be revealed in time," said she. "Only know now that I bring grave tidings, and that you may trust this man Faramir. He is Boromir's brother, and a friend."

Frodo gazed at her searchingly. "Something is very wrong."

"Yes," she said. "But there is much to do first. The time for talk will come later."

Frodo and Sam were left with a guard, and the Captain and his guest went to join their company. All Frodo could think upon their departure was that Dereth looked pale, as though she had been wounded recently, and that it was some strange twist of fate that brought her to them with these men, among whom she seemed to fit so well. Indeed, the Captain was attentive to her in a way that did not belittle her strength and skill, but rather took care that that strength should not diminish. A strange sadness came upon him then, for he seemed to be looking as in a vision of what could have been, and never would.

The Haradrim were unsuspecting, and the battle was quick and fierce. Faramir's men were well-trained. Not a little were they impressed with Dereth's skill, for she fought well and expertly, as one who has seen many battles against diverse foes and is therefore unsurprised at uncommon weapons and techniques. When it was over, they made back for the glen where Frodo and Sam were waiting. The Ranger girl had, however, fallen in with a group at the farthest reaches of the skirmish, and was a considerable time in getting back. When they did, Faramir had already begun his conversation with the hobbits.

Frodo was speaking. "No, not because I choose," he said. "It does not belong to me. It does not belong to any mortal, great or small; though if any could claim it, it would be Aragorn son of Arathorn, whom I named, the leader of our Company from Moria to Rauros."

"Why so," said Faramir, the pride of his people in every word, "And not Boromir, prince of the City that the sons of Elendil founded?"

"Because Aragorn is descended in direct lineage, father to father, from Isidur Elendil's son himself. And the sowrd that he bears was Elendil's sword."

There was a general exclamation, as well as many mutterings and several louder words. It was indeed great news, for those who could believe it. But Faramir required proof.

"Lady," said Frodo. "Will you speak now. For your words may be far more worthy than mine in such a case."

Dereth stepped forward. "My Lord Faramir, you may not believe the words of so small a person, but you will heed mine." At this, the entire company stilled at this, for something in her voice was not to be denied. "Frodo is correct in saying that I could put forward such proofs as word convince you of the truth of his words. But I will not do so now. The hour of Elessar is not yet within reach, and if it should come, greatly will you rue any evil you speak of him now. For now you must be satisfied with my word."

Faramir yielded his argument, and Frodo beheld again the trust that short aquaintence had formed between such keen readers of hearts.

"Now," Dereth continued. "Before another word is said, I would beg leave to speak, for I bring tidings that concern both of you, and they are ill." She addressed Faramir first. "You are aware, surely, of the death of your brother? I see it is so, for it is written on your face."

"Dead?" said Frodo. "How?"

"Orcs at Rauros. Just after you left."

"These are ill tidings indeed, and my heart grieves. Please tell me how it came to pass."

"It is a long tale, and best left for later. Much of it I only guess, at any rate. There is more, however. The Orcs came not from Mordor. They bore the White Hand of Saruman. Merry and Pippin have been taken, being mistaken, I believe, for you."

Frodo stood aghast. "The others? Gimli and Legolas? And your– Strider?"

She shook her head. "I do not know."

Faramir then stepped in. "If you bear news of Boromir, perhaps you will tell me how he came to be in such a battle."

"Defending myself and those lost companions I have spoken of."

"How is it you escaped and not them?" asked Frodo.

"I did not," Dereth replied. "After deciding they had no use for me, the Orcs threw me into the river, and I was found by such men as you see here."

Faramir seemed to think it time to break off the explanations until later. "We had best speak of these things elsewhere, and then, perhaps, you will tell me more. Now you, Frodo and Samwise, will come with me and my guards. You cannot go along the road southwards, if that was your purpose. It will be unsafe for some days, and always more closely watched after this affray than it has been yet. And you cannot, I think, go far today in any case, for you are weary. And so are we. We are going now to a secret place we have, somewhat less than ten miles from here. The Orcs and spies of the Enemy hav enot found it yet, and if they did, we could hold it long even against many. There we may lie up and rest for a while, and you with us. In the morning I will decide what is best for me to do, and for you.

Encouraged by Dereth's trust in their captors and feeling that there was nothing else to be done, Frodo went willingly. It was on this journey that Faramir questioned him more. He pressed him about the matter of Isildur's Bane, but was neither harsh nor too forceful. The Captain was shrewd, and learned much from conjecture. There had been some contention between Frodo and Boromir, and talked of Aragorn. Their talk turned soon to Gandalf, and Faramir was shocked to learn of his fall in Moria.

It happened that, when they were only about halfway to their destination, Dereth grew faith and lagged behind a little. She uttered no complaint, and perhaps would have gone unnoticed, as was her wish, if Faramir had not missed her presence.

"Milady!" he called back to her. "You fall behind."

"Do not concern yourself, Captain. I am well."

He strode back to her. "Your breathing is labored."

"It is, perhaps, my wound," she admitted.

He nodded. "You have not had as long to rest as is advisable. Perhaps such a venture should not have been undertaken."

"I am well," was her only response.

He studied her for a moment longer, then turned back to Frodo. "Forgive my misconduct as a host, my friends, for this lady was put under my care first, whether by chance or fate, and chivalry and kindness demand of me that I now put her needs first." With that, he reached for the Ranger, and lifted her weakening body into his arms.

AN: For those loyal Tolkien fans who might be getting a little concerned at this point, I have no intention of changing the story. You will understand more later. Please review. It's been a while, I know, but if I know you're all still reading, it'll be easier to keep writing.


	6. An Understanding

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's work, nor am I making any money off of this story. As if I could.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Moromu.

Chapter 6:

Dereth woke in the same anteroom that had been her chamber since her coming to Ithilien. Faramir sat beside her, deep in thought.

"What thoughts lie on your mind?" Dereth said, not rising.

He turned and looked at her. "I am thinking of the Halflings, and our conversation together earlier."

Dereth suddenly sat up. "It is late."

"Indeed," replied Faramir. "You have slept long. The Halflings have eaten and are sleeping, and I now know of their intentions." He said it carefully, so as not to alarm her, but his voice was deep with purpose. "Yes, I know of the Ring, and Aragorn, and all that you have been through."

Dereth was silent a moment. "Perhaps this disclosure was meant to be, but I do not think it wise of Frodo to be so forthcoming."

"Oh, no," said Faramir, smiling. "It was Sam who betrayed it first. Frodo merely finished what could not be undone."

"And what will you do now?" asked Dereth. "What is to become of us? We are not some prize to be lightly dragged back to your great city."

"Do you put that little trust in me?" said Faramir. "Am I so like my brother that you think me capable of his mistakes? I have been a student of Mithrandir. I know what is at stake."

"Then will you let us go?" said Dereth, and her face was riddled with sadness and pain, as of one who has walked long, and having no hope that she will be allowed to stop, desires only that she not be hindered.

Faramir moved to sit beside her. He peered into her bright eyes for a moment, then cupped one hand around her face. For a moment, everything stopped, then:

"Do not misunderstand me. In the morning, I will let your friends go free, with their strange guide." Dereth winced at this. "Yes, we have found Gollum, and though it goes against the judgment of my heart, he will travel with him, and my life will be forfeit to theirs."

"And will you allow me to fulfill my mission as well? To protect them as I can?"

"Are you pledged to do so?"

"No. Elrond forbade us to make any vow."

Faramir looked thoughtful. "I think then that I will not let you go." He continued to hold her as she strove to free herself. "Please understand me. You are weak, and the journey to Mordor will be long. My life will be forfeit for letting go your friends, but you at least must come back to answer to my father, and to see what has become of your other companions."

Dereth thought of her brother and the others. "And will you allow me, after I have appeared before your father, to seek them out?"

Faramir released her from his hold. "If it is in my power."

"Then I will go with you."

Frodo and Sam left early, but Dereth was awake and dressed. Frodo entered her room, alone, just as she was buckling the Gondorian belt Faramir had provided for her, her other clothing being torn and bloodied beyond mending. He paused for a moment in the doorway to watch her. Her movements were slow, hindered by her injured arm, though she was recovering quickly. The clothes were brown of different hues, and the tunic hung low about her knees, for though she was of great height, she was not as the men of her race. She had pulled her hair back from her face, and it hung in a short tail. Her Elven cloak lay on the bed.

"My lady," Frodo said softly.

Dereth turned. "You are leaving now?"

"Yes," Frodo answered. "You're not coming with us, are you?"

She shook her head. "I am sorry, but I must go with Faramir to Minas Tirith. Perhaps I may discover something of our companions there."

"Perhaps," Frodo said, "or perhaps they are lost forever." He looked so despondent that Dereth placed her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to offer some comfort.

"Not all is lost," she said softly. "As long as you remain alive, we have some reason to hope. Take heart, Frodo Baggins. Not all is lost."

After Frodo's departure the company returned to their original post at Osgiliath, but they found no rest there. A battalion of orcs attacked the city with such force that Faramir and his men were forced to retreat back across the Pelenor fields to Minas Tirith. They were pursued all the way by the Nazgul, flying in their full force of power upon evil winged creatures the likes of which the world of men has no name for. But even their great power was no match for that of the White Rider. Blazing on Shadowfax Gandalf rode out to meet them, and so forced back their foes and saved the rangers of Ithilien in one small, but glorious victory.

Pippin watched all from the city, and when the men rode into it, he took up the cry with the others, "Faramir!", hailing the great lord he loved as he beheld him for the first time. Then, even as Faramir turned at the sound of a strange voice, Pippin caught sight of another rider with him, on the same mount, for her own had fallen on the fields. The cheer caught in his throat, and changed, and as he strove to utter that name which in that moment was more precious to him than any other, tears came and choked him, so that he could only whisper, "Dereth..."

Faramir was remarking at the presence of a halfling in such a place, when Gandalf appeared, ushering all of them to the citadel and explaining at the same time. Even his composure could not mask his relief however, whenever he looked at the battered Ranger girl.

Denethor did not take any of this so kindly. He berated Faramir for letting Frodo go, was angry at Gandalf for his influence, and scornful of Dereth. For a time, she held her peace, until at last her wrath was kindled.

"My Lord Denethor," she said, stepping forward. "This is not the way a steward of Gondor should govern his people. Indeed, they are not your people, they are only left in your charge until someone comes along who may do it better. Do not question with such hatred the counsel of those whom he holds in esteem, lest when he returns, it is you who are brought down low."

"You will not question me in my own hall!" yelled Denethor. "You are merely a woman, a Ranger, of no consequence! What can you know of such things!"

"More than you!" said Gandalf, before the girl could reply. "She has not walked in this world long, but her place in it is greater than yours. Choose your words carefully, when addressing the sister of the coming king."

Denethor was silent. Faramir sat up in his chair, staring at the girl he had rescued out of pity.

"Yes, lords," said Gandalf. "This is Aragorn's sister, Dereth, daughter of Arathorn and Gilrean, the one whom the Elves name Celeril, and men name Wanderer, and her authority here needs no ceremony."

"No, Gandalf," said Dereth quietly. "That time has not yet come."

"It will be soon. Even now forces are in motion that cannot be stopped."

Dereth nodded.

From his place on the great chair, Denethor rumbled, "Get out of my hall."

After the meeting, Faramir found the Ranger girl standing on the battlement, alone, staring out at the bleak field. Tentatively, he approached her. She did not stir at his presence, only continued to focus on the field, looming like the battle it would soon hold.

"Men will die out there," she said suddenly. "Men will die, and it will not matter what their place is, or who their father was. But they would rather die than be enslaved, for then it will matter even less."

After a moment, Faramir spoke. "You did not tell me you were his sister."

"I thought it best to keep such matters to myself, until such time as they should be known to all."

Both their gazes returned to the field, lingering on it, hoping as they did that they could hold back the tide, that fate would sweep past them and they need not endure such change in their lives. But they were a man and a woman of discipline, hard-schooled in the arts of war and the ways of the world, and though they were each other's match in every way, that very similarity would hold them forever apart, as the currents of duty took them each in their fated directions.

For a while, it seemed that all such thoughts would go unspoken, but then Faramir again picked up his train.

"I would have..." he began. "I presumed..."

"You presumed nothing that has been altered by this revelation," answered Dereth. "Your wishes, though you never spoke them aloud, were by no means unjust, and my heritage does not change that. Indeed, it supports it. However, I am bound by a promise made long ago, and to go back on it would be a betrayal of my brother whom I hold most dear. I cannot give you what you seek."

"Your brother has some other fate planned for you?" Dereth could feel Faramir holding his breath beside her.

"Not he, but others among the Wise. My acceptance of this fate will allow him to become the king he is destined to be. It is as it should be." She turned suddenly, and her eyes brimmed with tears. "Do not regret, brave soul, those things which cannot be. We each have our parts to play at this the end of all things, and when the world has changed forever, those things we desired in the old world will not matter so much anymore."

Faramir bent and kissed her forehead. Then he backed away and bowed formally.

"I am yours to command, my princess."

Dereth smiled. "Then I bid you not trouble yourself further about your father. He is an old man, and his will is feeble, and will break like the tides on the sand of things to come."

This foresight only served to sadden Faramir further, but he turned to face the fields once more, and they passed the evening in that way, remaining there till long after the hidden sun had set.

A/N: Yeah, yeah. It's been a while. Let me know what you think.


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